


belgian buns

by Star_less



Category: Black Mirror (TV), Black Mirror: Bandersnatch (2018)
Genre: Birthday, Birthday Fluff, Colin doesn’t like fuss, Complete, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Early Mornings, Fluff, Gentleness, M/M, Mornings, Not Beta Read, One Shot, Short One Shot, Smooching, Stefan gives it to him anyway, colfan, everything is fluffy and lovely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-10-18 13:00:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17581328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Star_less/pseuds/Star_less
Summary: No fuss, no ‘Colin Ritman’s birthday!’ bullshit. Just a joint, Stefan, and a Belgian bun for breakfast before he went about his day.It’s Colin’s birthday, and Stefan can’t help but treat him.He watched with quiet interest; the thick, white-glazed buns sliding into a brown paper bag, the studded currants, the cherry so brightly red that if Stefan looked close enough he swore he could see his own reflection within them. “Actually... Can— can you take the cherry off of one of them?”





	belgian buns

**Author's Note:**

> Hello. Some of you may know my name already. LOOK! a NON ageplay colfan thing! oooh?
> 
> I am in The Hole but I wanted to write this to drag myself out of The Hole. It is Will Poulter’s birthday today, which means it is Colin Ritman’s birthday, too.

The room was bathed in low orange light when Stefan’s eyes fluttered open that morning; it was so early that only one bird in the tree outside of Colin’s flat was moaning ugly birdsong in a feeble attempt to rouse the neighbourhood. Stefan’s head pounded with tiredness - a tiredness that crept to the backs of his eyes, clawed right in and whispered, ‘come on, back to bed!’ as he swung around, let the heels of his feet thud dully against the wood floor.

No. Not today.

Stefan dragged his gaze toward Colin. The blond was crumpled next to him with his knees pulled in, and he was laying on one arm. Asleep, he looked... different somehow - different like it was the only time Stefan could really take him in because the rest of the time he was bouncing around erratically never to rest. Now that he was resting Stefan appreciated the little things that he hadn’t noticed before; like the spider-webbed freckles dusted over his cheeks and the way his lips were plump and pink and parted ever so slightly as he let out a tiny whisper of a sigh - or the way his eyelashes were curled and dark and his hair, white blond and spiked, caught tiny glimmers of early morning light in the strands. God, Stefan just loved him so much. He longed to press his lips to Colin’s, wake him up with a soft, ‘Morning’ (admittedly more so Colin could share the aching hell of an early morning with him rather than out of blindingly ecstatic love) but...   
...No. He couldn’t. Not yet.  
Smiling tiredly, Stefan squeezed Colin’s shoulder in place of a kiss. He pulled the thick blue duvet tighter up around Colin’s bare shoulders, right up to the collarbone, then stumbled back as lightly and as silently as he could manage. Colin seemed to wake slightly; he let out a short shuffle of a snore, then sank back blissfully into the duvet he had been swaddled into.

”Sleep tight,” Stefan whispered shyly. He couldn’t help but think that there was something a little more pressing he could’ve been saying but a part of him, a stupidly tiny part of him, thought that it might ruin the surprise.

*

There was a bakery close to the Tuckersoft offices which Colin liked. When Stefan had first began working at Tuckersoft Colin’s lunch hour consisted of a cigarette break outside and a trip to the bakery. Not that Colin had sat there and told him, ‘I go to the bakery on my lunch hour’, mind you. Stefan had seen the crumbs down his shirt. “I just went to the bakery.” was the crisply curt reply he had received when Colin caught him looking. “I didn’t get you anything.”

A single Belgian bun. Colin had a single Belgian bun every single day. Or every single time he decided to take lunch into the office, anyway. A single Belgian bun with the glacé cherry taken off.  
”Surely if you take the cherry off, it’s not a Belgian bun?”  
A shrug. “I don’t like it. The Belgians were wrong.”

”Hello,” Stefan whispered shyly—too shyly—as he stepped into the bakery and the soft _tri-ing!_ of the doorbell made the baker’s head snap toward him. He fought her gaze, nuzzling deeper into his coat.

”How can I help you, flower?”

Stefan placed a crumpled £5 note on the counter. “Two Belgian buns, please.”  
He watched her movements with quiet interest; the thick, white-glazed buns sliding into a brown paper bag, the studded currants spilling from the fat puffs, the cherry so brightly red that if Stefan looked close enough he swore he could see his own reflection within them. “Can... can you take the cherry off of one of them?”

She smiled. “Not another Colin Ritman. Sacrilege, what he does to my buns.”

Stefan sputtered.

*

”Happy birthday to you... happy birthday to you...” Stefan sang in a whisper, peeking around the slightly ajar door to Colin’s bedroom. His voice was soft, slightly strained with shyness — Colin was no stranger to him but singing wasn’t one of Stefan’s strong points. He bundled into the room with a plate in his outstretched hands - atop it, the two Belgian buns. One with the cherry picked off and a striped blue candle (lit, melting the thick white glaze into glistening gooeyness) stuck in only slightly wonkily - and one, cherry intact, without a candle. 

As he entered Colin sat up in bed, duvet bunched up tight in one hand against his bare chest. In his other hand was a cigarette; he blew out slow swirls of smoke with a contented smile. The smell of pot hung in the air but it was less... suffocating - more a gentle kiss to the nostrils. “Stefan..” Colin said, and though the room was still cloaked in early morning light Stefan swore he could see the very hint of a blush clinging to the freckles on his cheeks. “What are you doing? What’s... this?”

“It’s your birthday!” Stefan said and he stressed the word, crumpling onto the bed with the two buns. He held up the bun with the candle stuck into it; held it up so the orange light illuminated Colin’s unusually bashful looking features. 

“Come on, at least make a wish.” He leaned forward, rocking slightly when all Colin did was sigh and run his hands through his hair. Colin had... never been one for fuss, least of all on his birthdays. “I don’t fuss, Stefan.” he can’t help but remind him. Felt shitty for it, of course, but Stefan seemed to be wanting party poppers, streamers and the whole works and— and Colin wasn’t - isn’t - has never been - capable of that. He hasn’t had fuss on his birthdays for years - not proper fuss. Mum and Dad never bothered when he was a kid because he would always twang someone’s party hat or pull someone’s pigtails. They didn’t bother much when he went to comprehensive school either because by that age they wanted him out of their hair. Then he got into his programming... then it was just him, by himself, so his birthdays were filled with joint after joint and the resolute decision that the 28th of January wasn’t special, didn’t deserve to be highlighted. It was just another day, just another turn of the Earth.  
Funny, because by the time he met Kitty he almost wanted her to acknowledge it, almost looked forward to it — and then she was pregnant and in hospital with ‘a scare’ and so even then he did not celebrate. Not that he minded, really. Just proved to him that it really was nothing more than an insignificant day.

“This isn’t fuss, this is _breakfast_.” Stefan insisted, grinning boyishly as Colin rolled his eyes.   
As Stefan fell to a quiet, wobbly rendition of ‘happy birthday’ (again) Colin set his cig aside; closed his eyes, listened to the scratchiness of his boyfriend’s voice and allowed himself - just now, just this once - to be fussed over. Bathed in the love of Stefan’s voice and held his eyes shut tight, making one wish and wishing it hard. Perhaps, thought the tiny child deep in the base of his brain, the harder he wished, the more likely his wish was to come true.  
Song drawing to a close, Colin’s eyes reopened. He took in a breath and blew out the candle, extinguishing it with a puff — but his eyes were alight, hungry. “Nice breakfast.” He picked the bun up, dug the candle out and scrutinised the glazed bun with one glinting eye. His features relaxed moments later, the first hints of an amused smile twitching at the corners of his lips. “No cherry. Impressive.”

“She said it’s sacrilege, what you do to her buns.”

“She wouldn’t be the first.”

The two ate in comfortable silence; silence that was punctured by occasional sticky pops of glazed lips— and Stefan sucking the icing off of his fingers. “What did you wish for?”

“Mm?”  
Colin had his cigarette again; doing an incredible juggling act of both bun and cig. He took a slow drag, expression thin.

“What did you wish for?”

A smile quirked up on Colin’s lips; a ‘smart-arse’ sort of smile. “If I told you,” he said, leaning over and kissing Stefan squarely on the lips - just once, without lingering - “It wouldn’t come true now, would it?”

This. He wishes for this to be his. No fuss, no ‘Colin Ritman’s birthday!’ bullshit. Just a joint, Stefan, and a Belgian bun for breakfast before he went about his day.

**Author's Note:**

> I am still in The Hole; I write these fics, then I read these fics and just think ‘awful, bad, give up,’ but they give me some happiness so Fuck You, The Hole. also I cracked a smile at ‘sacrilege, what he does to my buns’ — I think I’m funny so you don’t have to. :D
> 
> Couldn’t resist giving Colin a bit of a miz backstory too. Plus I can’t write smut at all so this is all he gets. Sorry precious.
> 
> Please please comment and kudos if you liked this - I appreciate them, they keep me writing and they are the only reason I haven’t fully descended into The Hole :D if you’re nice Colin might give you some of his buns. 
> 
> Happy birthday Will Poulter!
> 
> xx
> 
> (PS: Belgian buns aren’t Belgian)


End file.
